The Other Exorcist
by Brokennmist
Summary: We know of one, but what of the another? Takes place before the movie. An OC story that might be just a story, or perhaps one that will become so much more. Rewritten.
1. Prologue

His feet hurt, limbs ached.

But his eyes –

Oh! They were like dark ebony pearls against the little brilliance of Outside sun.

Left and right. Up and down. They were quick, wary.

They were watching, always watching. Silently. Amidst the whispers and the tangled voices, amidst the corridors of ancient stone and wrought iron that extended into infinite darkness, amidst the stale air that hung in the dim half-light like atomized ether, amidst the many eyes of carved faces, of such intrinsic insanity – it was _his_ that were watching, that were waiting, that were ever so calculating.

_Watch_.

That was what It had said the first time.

_Watch_.

And It had given him so bitter the taste of fear and whispered harm, he was left with a torrent of red coppery tang smothering his gaunt face. The Captors had done nothing as the crimson of blood meandered down his hollow cheeks from long deep gashes he would have never thought his fingernails to be capable of. The Captors had done nothing at all.

But _It_ had.

It had wept as he wept, had screamed as he screamed, had pained as he pained. And as the blood began to settle and the scarlet stain began to dwindle, It had quietened. It had soothed and calmed. It had comforted.

And It had made Its demand.

_Watch_.

So he had.

He had watched anything and everything he could – his fellow men, the poor female who sobbed to herself in a cell in front of his, the rats darting back and forth, what little he could make of the heavenly sky outside. He had watched the Captors trudge around lazily, bellies rolling with gallons of the strongest ale. He had watched them sneer, had watched them laugh, had watched them wolf down fresh bread. He had watched them doze carelessly, had watched them tinkle in secluded corners. He had watched and watched.

And he had hungered.

But it was then that It had stopped Its insistent commands for him to Watch. It had snickered, It had laughed, It had jeered.

_Learn_, It had then said. _Learn_.

So he had.

He had learnt, as his eyes combed the dark of the nights, that the poor female occupying the cell in front of his was viciously brought down each time ebony dusk fell Outside. She was groped and bitten, her dignity left to fester as mere shadows that would fracture and rise like smoke to the heavens when the Captors ended their burning perforations. She sobbed, wept for what little pieces of her bruised self she could painfully salvage. It hurt her, he realized. It agonized. Rape, he now knew, was utterly ruinous even to the tainted soul of the criminally insane.

_Learn._

He had learnt, as his eyes kept to razing scrutiny, that his fellow men were mere pawns in a ruthlessly entertaining game. They were the circus freaks, the shows, the source of raw amusement for the Captors. They brewed silently, like clouds before the coming storm – imbued with such frightening silence and tarnished with the stench of strangely forbidding anger. They brewed till throats bled dry and bellies whined with tortured moans. And only then would they shriek, would they scream, would they threaten. Only then would they beg. It pleasured the Captors, tormented the men. Hunger, he now knew, was curiously compelling.

_Learn._

He had learnt, as his eyes darted about in detailed study, that the Captors held strange concern with his very existence. As the pained cries emanating from the opposite cell dwindled each morning to no more than quiet sobs, the melodious laughter of Outside robins would come to be. He would hear then the shuffling of feet, the roar of callous laughter, the metallic groan of archaic iron, and he would smell the strong odour that was the Captors.

'¿Muerto?' one would ask, a ring a brass keys swinging carelessly around a podgy thumb.

Dead?

'No,' the other would reply, shoving a leather-bound foot viciously into his side.

Not yet.

The jingle of keys, he now knew, marked a defining opportunity for him to press and run free. That blessed sound meant a chance at freedom.

This small slip of knowledge pleased him. Or It - he could no longer isolate his thoughts. It cackled, reaching out a hand to caress his blemished brow lovingly. The gesture caused him a slight startle, but he smiled nonetheless, hardly deterred by his own skeletal hand now running its fingers lightly across his face.

Dawn came, as did the sound of keys, like silver chimes in the wind.

_The time is right_, It murmured. _Watch_.

So he did.

He watched as the Captors approached, guffawing readily when they caught his pathetic attempts at pushing up onto aching feet.

'Idiota.'

Fool.

'Si.'

He snarled at them, jaws snapping like a diseased canine. He would hurt them good for that comment; ensure that their eyes no longer saw, and tongues no longer wagged.

_Wait._

Patience was not his virtue; he was not a virtuous man. But this was Its command – he would follow. He'd wait.

And he did.

He waited as the Captors sashayed their way over to his cell, bearing grins of grime and filth. He waited as the brass key turned in the ancient lock, the sound loud, distinct and ever so blessed. He waited as the large old iron slab swung open noisily, a clear threat to make no hesitation in simply falling off its hinges. He waited as the Captors foolishly entered his cell, laughing, sniggering, and so very oblivious.

_It is time_.

Yes, he had supposed it was.

_Now,_ It snarled. _Kill_.

He frowned, unsure. Kill?

_Kill_.

So he did.

When he was done, the Captors were strewn across the floor, motionless. Crimson stained the dirt, creating minute rivers that meandered quickly around his two bare feet. The coppery tang filled his senses, and where he felt nauseous, It screamed victoriously.

He had killed. Lord, he had _killed_.

It shrieked in anger, in pain at his words.

_Nay! Your Lord gives you no refuge. But I've given you freedom!_

Yes, yes! It spoke the truth!

_Move! For Freedom!_

He did.

He stepped out his cell, heard the strangled cries of his fellow men. He heard them beg to be freed as well, but he could not comply – would not comply. It was his, and his alone. No one else could have It.

_Move._

He stalked down the darkness of the corridor, feeling the Outside breeze brush his face a little stronger every step forward. He could hear the alarms now, the bells that warned of his Freedom earned. Men were running towards him, foolishly armed with mere flashlights.

'Parar!'

Stop? He would not be thrown back in to that cell.

Fools.

He kept moving.

'Parar! Parar!'

The voices were insistent now, threatening. But there were many – his freedom was to be thwarted.

_Nay! Climb!_

Climb?

_Climb!_

So he did.

He climbed the bars of a cell, filling the prison hold with the fearful shrieks of the woman behind it. But he had barely made it to the low grimy ceiling when he was suddenly strangled with the harsh caress of so deep a fear, fear that was his.

_She's coming!_

She? It had sneered and jeered, and laughed and killed, but it was afraid of she? She who?

_She's been called!_

She who?

_Her._

'Going somewhere?'

A girl stood beneath him, hair of darkest ebony glinting enticingly in the dark.

Was this Her?

It snarled at Her through his teeth, used his blackened nails in an effort to scar Her porcelain skin. She merely stepped out of the way, frowning.

_Run! _It demanded in a fearful shriek.

He was confused. Where could he go? Men surrounded them, and She was waiting.

_Run! Climb!_

'Stay.'

Her voice was soft, comforting. Stay? Why would he stay?

_Run! Climb!_

'STAY!'

'_Nay!_'It screamed through his teeth.

It snarled at Her again, showing his blackened teeth.

'I've left a bonfire burning outside. A huge one. Holy water. You take a few steps closer, and you're toast.'

'_You lie!_'

She laughed, the sound caressing his ears lovingly.

'I could be. But you wouldn't know till you do take those few steps, now would you?'

This time, Its swipe with his bony fingers successfully drew blood from what little neck Her trench coat left exposed. She stumbled backwards, taken by surprise, small hands making quick work of examining the damage he – no, _they_ – had caused.

'Damn you!'

'_I am already damned,_' It replied nastily, painfully drawing _his_ lips into a dark smirk.

The men surrounding them surged forth in anger, brandishing batons and rifles threateningly. Where had these come from? He had only seen flashlights earlier. His throat was closing in fear at the sight, but It merely cackled.

'_No mortal weapon can harm me_,' It drawled.

Harm It. And him? Would he be harmed?

'Don't touch them.'

Them? She knew of It?

He was confused now, blinded by Its rage but ever so drawn to Her.

'Get down here, I'll make a deal with you.'

'_You guarantee my Freedom?_'

Its Freedom. And his? Would he get his?

'I will make no wagers till you get down _here_.'

Her words were spoken with such sinister ferocity, he did not wish to comply. She would hurt him, hurt _them_. He could not, would not comply.

Climb. He wanted to climb. Higher and higher till no one could reach them. He willed his limbs to pull them up, take them away, but he was already making his way down the bars of the cell, cackling as he did so.

Climb! He wanted to climb!

_Nay, fool_.

It lunged at Her suddenly, taking _him_ by surprise. Her wrists were in Its grasp, in his hands. It shoved Her up against bars of an empty cell, holding _his_ body against Hers, grinding _his_ hips into Hers. Her breath scalded his chin, Her body warm under his.

He struggled to step away, to release the poor beauty beneath him, but It was adamant. Determined.

Men were closing in.

'I said don't touch them!' She insisted, making no effort to struggle against It, against _him_.

It snarled, held _his_ lips dangerously close to Hers. She whimpered at the slight contact, the sound leaving him nauseous. But this pleasured It, and what gave It pleasure, he could not deny.

'_Let me be Free, and He who is the Spawn of Hellfire shall grant you all you desire_,' It whispered with _his_ tongue, words a sultry murmur.

He felt Her shift beneath him, then felt Her stinging lips brush his ear. He felt It tingle within him, crying out victoriously.

'I seek refuge -,' She began, lips dragging across the lobe of his ear.

Where his disgust became a strangely effortless calm, Its victory was suddenly stifled, swelled into thick oppressive horror.

'- in the Lord –'

It angered within him, snapping and snarling at Her with _his_ jaws.

'_Nay!_'

It struggled against Her, struggled to pull his body away. But Her slender fingers now locked his wrists in vice-like captivity. She was no longer Its pawn - this was _Her_ game.

'- from the pride, poetry and touch of the Devil.'

She released them then, and he stumbled backwards unsteadily. His mind was a torrent of hurricanes; he was confused, filled with so much anger but pressed with such comforting calm. Its thoughts became his – _run, hide, kill!_ It could no longer touch Her, could no longer harm. It was as helpless as he had once been in that small cell.

It brought him down on his knees as She stepped towards him, eyes of darkest olive and dazzling emerald glinting threateningly in the gloom. He could smell fear, knew that it was present, that it was theirs and no longer Hers.

'_He will give all you desire, and more!_'

This was a fib, he knew, even as It offered her his hand.

'I highly doubt that, love.'

She didn't take the hand; he knew she would not. A knee was brought up instead and it slammed viciously into his face. He heard the small crack of his nose breaking, but didn't feel much else save the warm blood forming ribbons down to his lips. It, however, screamed from the stinging ache the gesture brought and It collapsed in prostration before her, taking him with It.

'Hold It down.'

Was She talking to him?

Murmurs erupted from all around him.

'¿Que?' came a timid voice.

'Hold. It. Down.'

It scratched and clawed within him at those words.

'_Nay!_'

He heard more murmurs, wondered about it. He could hold It down. Why was there such hesitation?

'Pero –' came the small voice again.

'But what? It can't harm you now.'

'¿De verdad?'

He could taste Her frustration, felt responsible for it.

'Yes, it's the damn truth! Now hold it down or so help me, I'll stab you in the eye.'

'Si, si!'

He felt himself being forced to his back by a thousand hands, felt his limbs threatening to pop right out of their sockets. It struggled against the many grasps, using him to claw and bite whatever it could reach.

'Spread-eagled.'

Her voice was business-like, firm.

'¿Que?'

'Cruz. Lay him spread-eagled. A cross.'

'Si, si.'

His arms were yanked from his sides and held down by the weight of two men. His legs kicked out, but hands snapped it at the ankles. They were left pathetically useless, but were pulled together nonetheless and kept in place by the weight of three.

'_Let me be free!_'

'I don't think so, bub.'

'_Then when you are damned, you shall have no mercy._'

She lunged at them then, straddling him painfully to the dirt. A hand held him by the cheeks, nails digging into his pallid skin. Her face was so close, he could make out the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of Her nose he only just noticed.

'And who are you to say if I'll be damned to Hell?'

Her voice was low, so dangerously soft, the breaths she exhaled scorching his already broken nose.

'_Come with me, and He shall be your salvation._'

She chuckled lightly, the sweet scent of berries and peaches she carried now an achingly suffocating inhalant.

'No, thanks.'

It growled in frustration, struggling against the many hands that held him down. It will be free! It will be free! It snarled, It snapped, all threats of Divine intervention now undaunting.

'_I. Shall. Be. Free!'_

The grip of Her thighs on his waist tightened.

'Shut up, and quit moving.'

She was waving something in his face, something small and gold and glinting. It shrieked as It let his gaze fall upon the tiny enemy, the sound emanating from his mouth treacherously painful to his ears. Horror filled his heart, horror that wasn't his.

'_The Ring!_'

He saw Her smirk, felt Her hold on him loosen considerably.

'Why yes, yes it is! Beautiful, eh?'

Her words were met with curses that flew from his lips - threats, shrieks, condemnation. It forced his struggles to increase in ferocity, to intensify with such viciousness against the many hands that held him, against Her slender legs.

'_Nay! Nay!_'

It tossed his head from side to side wildly, pulled his lips brutally back to bare venomous teeth. Fear compounded the horror, gripped him so tight, he was left suffocated as She held the little gold Ring painfully against the bridge of his nose.

'In the name of the Lord –'

'_Nay!_'

It now struggled to have his teeth sink into the skin of Her arms. He could do nothing but now Watch as It waged Its war with _his_ body.

'- I Command thee –'

She shoved his head back against the bare soil with Her free hand, face set with determination. He felt no pain, but heard the loud thud of his skull colliding with the solid ground.

'- Rescind!'

It screamed, recoiled within him. His hands no longer struggled, legs no longer kicked. It had relinquished Its hold, he could tell.

Was he glad?

This, he couldn't tell.

'Have a mirror?'

No, he didn't. He wanted to tell Her this, talk to Her, but his lips wouldn't move. His eyes, though, remained as wary watchful orbs.

'¿Que?'

'A mirror, a big one.'

'No.'

He heard the murmurs that followed this exchange between Her and the timid one, felt the grip on him tighten. Yet, his lips still did not move.

'Get the candles from bag.'

Was this directed to him? He did not know. He knew nothing anymore.

'¿Que?'

'The candles damn it! Vela! Vela!'

'¿Vela?'

'Si! Vela! Cirio! Candles! From the bag!'

He felt Her form shift above him, felt Her warmth envelop him comfortingly. She would save him from It, whisk him from this place, give him his freedom. He could feel it as he watched Her receive the bag of unscented candles from a scrawny man.

'Hold him down.'

Her warmth left him suddenly, and dark frost gripped him icily. He was cold, freezing without Her. Her warmth was placed with another's, one who weighed tons more and crushed him beneath the heavy mass. But this was different; he felt frightened now, no longer comforted. He wanted Her, perhaps even needed Her.

_Fool._

He was no fool. It was the fool. He had wanted to climb, hadn't he?

_She holds no care for you_.

No, She does.

_She has the Ring of Solomon. She is not worthy of trust!_

He could no longer comprehend Its vicious words, so very intent instead on watching as She meticulously formed a large triangle around him with the candles, then lit each carefully with whispered prayers falling from Her pale lips.

_Run! Flee! She makes to break us!_

He frowned, furrowed his brows. Did She make to break them?

Or It?

_Us! Us! Run! Flee! She comes! She comes!_

It screamed within him, panic a dreadful leech, as She made Her way back to them, brandishing the little gold Ring it what seemed to be triumph. Her warmth cloaked him once more, comforting him, the Ring now held scorching against his brow.

_I will only be the first of many! Free me and find your salvation!_

'It is the first.'

The words had come from his lips. This startled Her as it did him, and She paused to scrutinize his scarred face carefully.

'It is the first,' he repeated in an effort to appease a strangely compelling force that demanded this of him. 'The first of many -'

'To come?' She questioned, soothing voice now laced with dangerously calm rage. She caught him by the neck and held him still, held his gaze. 'Or to leave by my hand?'

_Fool! Fool!_

He thought to give no answer, but did not wrench his eyes away from Hers.

_Run! Flee!_

No, he would not.

'In the name of the Lord, I bid thee break oh spawn of Satan!'

_Nay!_

Her words were like fire coursing through his veins. He felt It claw at him painfully to throw of the command, to hold on to Its pathetic vessel. He heard screams of fear and agony, deafening him, torturing him.

Screams that were his.

'Rescind from the flesh!'

_Nay!_

'Rescind!'

His screams dwindled to light whimpers. He was no longer suffocated, no longer clawed at, no longer held on to, and as Her warmth slid from him slowly, the pain came to settle – the sting from the gashes on his gaunt cheeks, the agony of his broken ankles, the ache of his concussed head, the hurt of his broken nose. The shadows that swept in with the torturous ache of pain sought to engulf him wholly.

He briefly wondered where It had gone.

The Exorcist had done her job well.


	2. Sands and Swans

The sun had only just begun scorching its way up but this, as all else was, went unnoticed. The exorcism almost felt like it had, in entirety, lasted for weeks on end. She was drained, starved of both rest and the sweet privilege of sleep. She wouldn't, couldn't lie – it was becoming a real hazard as she drove blindly through clouds of sand.

Something was ringing. It was the phone, or her head – which exactly she couldn't quite tell. Bruised hands left the wheel in search of the source of the offending noise, but eyes of green remained glued to the road, or what little of the road she could make out through the dancing sand.

Shouts rang – most likely a whole motley collection of colourful words. She figured it to be close call, a near miss. Alandra really actually couldn't quite care for the number of road signage she had almost and was most probably going to mow down, possibly even flatten to nothingness now that she thought about it, in her tired stupor. She supposed a tad bit of effort she could try, at the very most. Fat load of good that would do, of course.

The red cell phone somehow found its way into her hand. She pressed, squeezed, made a half-hearted attempt at stifling the stupid piece of junk. That was what it was, alright, junk. She really needed to work on holding her own. It wasn't that she couldn't, period, but she'd just worked so hard on dividing her worlds, on holding them apart and separate. She'd used 'yes' way, way too many times in this one, this of all the many little worlds she'd constructed, that it had became too hard, painful even, to utter that single 'no'. And that, simply, was how she foolishly acquired the bothersome piece of crap that was a phone.

_¡Hola!_

The ringing had ceased, but Spanish, oh Lord there was _Spanish _in its place. Could no one yet comprehend that she hadn't just deliberately flunked the language in high school simply because she fancied doing so? Chinese and French had no greater outcomes. Languages in general were just obviously not her thing. She wished she could kick the idiot who now had words blasting away from the cell phone. Really, _Spanish_?

_¡Hola!_

Alandra was annoyed. She was sleepy, she was exhausted, she was hungry even, and now she was just utterly annoyed. The car came to an abrupt halt – she earned herself the blare of a truck's horn, a possibility that she wasn't the only pathetic inhabitant on Earth who's day had been – or was going to be actually, seeing as it _was_ morning - absolutely terrible. She couldn't, however, be particularly sure that she'd managed to bring the car to the side, or if she'd stopped it right in the middle of the road and clogged the whole thing right up.

_¿Hola?_

Alejandro. The name flashed repeatedly, mockingly across the phone's screen. Alejandro. Alejandro. Alejandro.

Utter idiot.

'What?'

She'd pressed the phone so far against her ear, she could clearly make out the deep steady breathing from the other end.

_¿Y bien?_

Her head was pounding.

'Well? _Well?_ Well what? How else could it have gone? I'm here aren't I?'

Oh, she was touchy. She knew that perfectly well. The sound of her voice was coarse against her ears – scratchy, deep, hoarse.

_¿Qué pasa?_

How could he so easily bring about the guilt?

Idiot.

'What's wrong? No, nothing's wrong. Alright, I'm sorry I snapped at you. Now what do you want?'

A laugh rumbled from the other end and a whole string of words followed, none of which she could comprehend.

'Could we lose the _español_ please?'

Another rumble of laughter. Lord, this conversation was getting nowhere.

_You've been here for two years, Alandra._

'Yes, my parents lived here, my grandparents lived here and so on so forth. It's been said one too many times, Jandro. Get on with you have to say, twit – I have a feeling my car is parked in the middle of the _Camino Real_.'

_You're nasty today. No time for pleasantries?_

Alandra's teeth clenched painfully. She really did wish she could kick him now.

'Alejandro, spit it out or I swear, I'll hang up and fling this piece of crap you forced on me right out the window. It feels like Heaven and Hell are waging a vicious war in my head.'

Her words came on fluidly, no longer coarse, no longer rough. She supposed the prolonged conversation helped some.

A quiet chuckle floated over.

_The police came by._

The pounding in her head was getting worse – it was almost full onset drilling in her skull right now.

'Again?'

_Again. There was a detective with them, not from around here. Officers usually take the truth in stride._

Usually. She didn't like that term. Usually.

'But?'

_This one is a man of reason._

'A stubborn fool, you mean.'

_¡Exacto! Utter dimwit._

Well, there was no surprise there. One was going to turn up sooner or later.

'Pay him off.'

_I could try. Might not come up to anything. Might want more, might want none at all._

Oh lord, she couldn't handle this, not now. The pounding hadn't ceased; it was now accompanied by a sickening bout of nausea.

'Look, Jandro, we'll –'

She paused and blinked momentarily. Her stomach turned and twisted nastily before she proceeded to empty what little there was in her stomach on the empty seat beside her. Yellow plastered and seeped into the sides of the seat, leaving small revolting lumps of what had been a snack of lollies.

_Alandra?_

'Yeah?'

The word came out in a croak.

_I'm coming to get you._

Simply put. There was an urgent need to be selfless, the need to stand down, but she could barely suppress the huge wave of relief that swept over.

'Yes. Yes, please.'

She hung up, allowed herself a long low sigh and collapsed with a thud in her seat. The dance of the sands hadn't yet died down. There were swirls and twirls, and clouds that twisted and turned to form what she made out to be a whole array of animals. A cat, an elephant, a walrus, a lion, a swan. She could already make out colours – a white swan, a black swan, a blue swan, a green swan, a red swan, blood red, crimson, two crimson swans, five crimson swans, ten, fifty, a hundred, a thousand.

One.

_Nada._

None.

'Alandra?'

They went, left, dived under, flew away.

The swans were gone, a curtain of darkest blue, or perhaps black, swallowing them all up. It looked like hair – her hair? Maybe, maybe not. It could be fur. But fur couldn't grow that long, and it was unlikely that there was a cat, or dog, attempting to suffocate her.

'Ally, you're a tad bit stuck.'

She started at that, now sleepy _and _confused. Hands were on her, strong arms wrapped around her waist. What was this? A kidnapping? Oh, she'd give this little bugger a nasty piece of her mind. Her mouth fell right open – an attempt at a curse, a threat, a scream even – but nothing happened. It was dry, much too dry in there. Itched. Burned.

Water. She needed water.

'_Move_, Alandra!'

A thud.

She hadn't meant to hit him; it was a reflex. He shouldn't have shouted. Her fist caught him in ear, and she felt the impact throw his head to the side. A string of curses flew by, peppered noticeably with anger, with rage. She shrunk back, cowered. All she wanted was to sleep, why couldn't Daddy leave her alone? And she just had to go make him mad.

'Wake up, you dodo.'

She didn't want to, didn't want to face an angry Daddy. She wanted sleep. She hadn't slept in days, months, weeks, years. She wanted sleep. Alandra curled tightly into a ball, hands over ears. Daddy was mumbling to himself. She didn't want to hear. She wanted to sleep.

'Alandra, it's Alejandro. You bloody well wake up, or I'll leave you here till the cartels come.'

That had her. She shot up. It was much too bright. A headache. Pounding. Lord, she felt like absolute crap.

'Good, now come on, I'll carry you up.'

It wasn't Daddy, it was Jandro! Sweet sweet Jandro. The idiot who got her that phone. She hated that phone.

Jandro.

Idiot.

Fool.

Strong arms – arms of steel, that's what they were – found their way around her, under the backs of her knees, around her shoulders.

'I can walk.'

It came out a croak from cracked lips.

'Don't be foolish. You'll –'

She wasn't foolish. Who dared call her foolish? She most certainly wasn't.

'I'll – I'll kick you, that's what I'll do.'

Yet another string of curses followed, then a loud hesitating huff of agreement was heard. Alandra was helped out of the backseat – wait, the back seat? How in the name of the Lord did she get there? Perhaps she'd been able to drag herself into it in the midst of her drowsy daze. Who knew she'd be that capable? She, certainly, did not.

'You said you could walk. So move already.'

She wanted to snap back, wanted to punch Alejandro, but she wouldn't – couldn't, rather – and complied rather easily. Her steps were hesitant, slow; the sun, after all, enveloped her with such warmth that she felt like turning back to the car and sleeping forever. She leaned against him unwillingly. She could walk, sure, but not without his help.

How had it come to this? She couldn't quite remember. She hadn't slept for days, hadn't had a proper meal in days, that much she knew. Maybe it was caffeine withdrawal. But she hated coffee, hadn't so much as touched a cup of it since she was six. She'd gotten hooked on it, lived off it for a whole two days, got sick all over her grandmother's rug, and that had been the end of her caffeine addiction. It had to be the candy then. That's what it was. And now there was no more sugar. No more rush. It was no wonder she felt crappy.

Alejandro had somehow gotten her in the house, up the stairs to the second floor, and into her room. The white drapes were drawn as she had left them. There was slight shuffling to her left and she tensed against him, ready despite her weariness. His grip on her tightened, a reflex, she supposed, towards her sudden caution. Two gleaming eyes materialize in the now diminishing darkness, bringing quiet calm; she relaxed her stance.

'Hey, Momo.'

Lord, she hoped the blithering nitwit who had left the poor ball of fur at the pound with nothing but a fairly idiotic name would be damned for the rest of his wretched life.

Honestly, Momo?

She received a rather pathetic mew in reply, befitting of a Momo really.

'The bed?'

'What bed?'

What in the world was in that man's mind? There was no bed, only Momo. She squinted, found difficulty in adjusting to the dimly lit room. Ah the bed, the one that had remained unmade, again, just as she had left it.

'Lord, you must really feel as bad as you look.'

That was nice of Jandro. She shoved him weakly.

'Like crap, actually. And I reek.'

Alandra could still smell the sweat cloaking her, and the filthy stench of blood that was hardly her own.

'Agreed. So, no bed?'

Bath scents, those were want she wanted.

'No. Bath.'

He helped her out of her coat; let a hiss escape from her cracked lips as the collar grazed long gashes on her neck left by her previous adversary. She felt callused fingers run gently over them, examining the damage done. She'd have to remember to fix it later, or have him help her do so, but she was going to leave it for now – highly improbable a minor wound would give her much trouble.

She pushed away from him.

'Left or right?'

'What?'

What? What what? What exactly she had she been asking for, she couldn't quite remember. Left. Right. Left or right. What is to the left or to the right? Where exactly had she wanted to go?

Oh.

'Bathroom.'

She received a loud sigh of frustration, then felt hands roughly pull her in the correct direction. She was gently shoved into the bathroom before the door clicked close behind her.

'Thanks!'

No reply was received. Alandra turned the taps, allowing water to spill wildly into the white tub, and emptied what numerous bottles of bath scents and soaps she had into the now rising water. Her clothes were shed unhesitatingly, left to pool in a mess at her feet.

She didn't like what she now saw in the mirror. Ribs wanted to be seen, collar bones strained noticeably against bloody skin, the grime was smeared everywhere, eyes were bloodshot. She scowled, and her reflection scowled right back.

It didn't take her long to shuffle over to the tub and lower herself into the warm scented water. The open cuts on her neck and hands stung slightly, but the aches and bruises that covered her eased away quickly. She felt relaxed, more so than she'd been in weeks, and smiled happily as the number of bubbles in the water with her increased. They were like the dancing sands she'd seen, only these were now doing some sort of jive, or jig – growing, popping, multiplying madly. The animals and the colours were back. The swans.

One.

Ebony.

Two.

Ivory.

Three.

Crimson.

There were just three, and they moved about in the sea, the ocean, the river, a lake. A melodious chorus; an angel arose, female, the epitome of beauty – a Snow White that lived, only she was one with hair an ice blue and lips so pink. A dance – the swans danced, the angel danced, Alandra danced. How could she not? The snow kissed her cracked lips; she no longer thirsted, no longer hungered, was no longer drunk with weariness. A dance with such beauty. Such freedom.

A shriek.

It startled her, had her cowering back from the swans, had her halt in her dance. The lake was shrinking, had shrunk. A well. That was all that was left. The swans screamed, a sound so frighteningly human. The ivory flew, escaped. Escape from what? The ebony disappeared down the well. Why did it go down there?

Another shriek. The angel was disappeared down the well as well, drowned in it, in the ice. Going. Going.

Gone.

Alandra wanted to help, wanted to reach out, wanted to run forth.

Blood.

So much blood, so much crimson. So much. From where? The crimson swan had melted away, like a wax figure that had been brought too close to flames. The blood. The swan had brought forth the waves of blood. It _was _the blood, the blood that held her down, seeped around her ankles, pulled her down against the earth. The soil. From she had once come. Earth. Soil.

Sand.

The sand! She had been in it, watched them dance. How'd she get here? She wanted to dance, needed to dance. The snow was gone; she thirsted again, hungered again. The swans. Where had they gone? Her dance was incomplete, unfinished. She had to dance, had to live again. But the blood held her, trapped her, caged her in. She wanted to go, wanted to be free. She'd only ever wanted to be free.

_Ashes to ashes._

The words rang out, melodious but harsh against her ears. Yet another shriek.

The sun was extinguished. Sudden. Abrupt. Snuffed out effortlessly, like blowing the flame off a candle. The dark reigned; frightening, intimidating, a nightmare. She saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing. She was helpless, could almost smell her own fear and the stench of sulphur. Sulphur? There was sulphur! She heard it then - wings flapped, claws swiped. The demons had come out to play, and she was to play right along.

_Dust to dust_.

Hands were on her, nails digging into her skin. She pulled away, struggled to shrug them off. The claws stung, drawing the scent of copper, drawing more blood.

Midnite. He'd know what was going on.

And that, simply, was her last sober thought before she did the only thing she could think off in an attempt to get rid of the grasping hands.

Alandra swung.

Not that she had meant to shove her fist into Jandro's face so hard that blood came pouring out of his nose, of course. There was light again and there was not blood, but water that hugged her, that spilt over the sides of the tub and flooded the bathroom. Jandro was bent over very same tub, bent over her, almost as if in prayer.

And then he exploded.

'You bloody _idiot_! Once wasn't enough?!'

There was no time. None at all. She rose from the tub, watched bloodied water – her blood or his? - surge over Jandro's head. She was getting him angry, she knew that. But there just wasn't time.

'Something's coming.'

'Yes, more blood.'

She growled, annoyed that he took it lightly, then stormed off completely unabashed by her lack of clothing. She was running now, across the room, through the corridor, down the stairs. She heard the flap of winds behind her. The swans? No, her imagination. Something was coming, something was coming.

The receiver was already in her hand as fingers flew over the numbers. Cuts covered her arms. Where had they come from? They hadn't been there before.

Alejandro didn't have long nails.

A ring. Two rings. Several. There was no time. She hung up and redialled, punched in a different set of numbers altogether.

Ringing again. Was the man going to pick up? This was maddening.

_Hello?_

'Constantine.'

A pause.

_Reeves._

'I can't get Midnite. We need to talk.'

Another pause.

_Hunh. And we are doing what now, exactly?_

She felt an urge to smack him smartly over the head, no matter how far away he was. She could make a voodoo doll – that's what she'd do.

'Not here, not over the phone. Some watch, some listen. It's urgent.'

She hoped he would catch the desperation in her voice. Calls weren't often made between them.

_Look, Reeves – _

'No, _you _look Constantine! Something's bloody wrong!'

Couldn't he just get it?

A pause.

_I'll be down to get you. Text me the flight details. This better be worth it, Reeves._

'Trust me, I rather hope it isn't.'

A gruff chuckle sounded in reply. The line went dead.


	3. Divine Threats

She collapsed.

Alejandro ambled over, almost blearily she would say, but from where, she had no clue. A white towel was slung carelessly over his shoulder and two wads of bloodied pink paper napkins were folded and stuffed up his nose with such precision it should have had her laughing. She watched with breathless amusement – unprepared, unsure, confused – at the sight of such retarded absurdity. She smiled, she grinned. And before she could even comprehend it, she was weeping all over the white-tiled floor.

It gushed forth suddenly – the tears, the unhappiness, the guilt, the _fear_. She wept for the angel whose death was so sweet, and for the swans that had held such graceful beauty. She wept for the thirst deliciously quenched with such ease and the hunger that gripped after, when Death had taken the wheel. Arms wrapped themselves around her; solid, strong.

_Intruding_.

She wept, she struggled, then for the third time that day, her fist swung.

'What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!'

She didn't mean it. She didn't mean it. Her world rocked, twisted, turned and subsequently settled suddenly. The earth no longer spun; she could feel the cool floor against her skin. It was steady, a comforting foundation of reality.

'If I'd known I'd be dealing with _this_ today, I'd have stayed at the clinic!'

The towel was thrown at her, catching her softly in the face.

'You know, tend to the bloody noses of _others_?'

She woke from the fear, from the terror. She woke to see the bloodied face of sweet sweet Alejandro, pain reflected in a plastered grimace. Evidently, the wads of paper napkins were pathetically useless in stemming the free flow of blood from his nose.

'I hate you Alandra Reeves.'

'Sorry.'

At least she wasn't croaking any longer. She grabbed on to what furniture she could, stumbled to her feet and wrapped the towel carefully around her bare body. Alejandro eyed her.

'Stop staring fool. You – '

Oh _hell_.

' - you are such a _man_.'

Her voice shook and Alejandro snorted, causing blood to sputter. The bravado cloaking her words were evidently apparent to him; her unavoidable defensive mechanism. The red of blood was blinding on the white sofa.

'Glad you noticed. Now, what the hell is going on?'

She winced at his biting tone, at the accusation in his eyes. She had to get away, had to run. The stairs called. She tripped. She stumbled.

'Alandra.'

She was in her closet, shuffling through cotton and denim.

'What is the time now?'

'It's close to seven. Don't change the subject, Alandra!'

'Something's wrong.'

Her words came in a whisper. She was still shuffling.

She could hold her own. She could hold her own.

Well, at least she should have been able to if he hadn't started advancing upon her. She was tired, she was hungry, she was _bare_ and now she was cornered in her own closet.

'And?'

Oho! She knew that tone – the anger, the fury. He'd probably caught the conversation she had on the phone. She thoughtlessly grabbed a set of undergarments and squeezed into them.

'And I had to make a call. There isn't time.'

She'd always known Alejandro's eyes to be big, dark. Now they were like coals aflame.

'Of all – you called him?!'

'Who bloody else could I have called?'

Defensive. She could feel the strength, the adrenaline rushing forth now. Perhaps she could hold her own after all. She picked out a top.

'Why the hell didn't you get Midnite then, you idiot?!'

'He didn't take the call!'

She was cornered now, in every sense of the word. Alejandro's bloodied face was pushed into hers, his arms caged her in against the white wall. She felt the top fall from her fingers.

'You couldn't wait?'

'You know I couldn't. You _know_ I couldn't, Jandro! If Midnite doesn't take a call, it means he's away, and you _know_ how unpredictably long his trips are!'

He snarled. Alejandro, sweet Alejandro _snarled_. Boy, that was a frightening surprise.

'You could have waited and tried again _later_.'

Alandra had had it. She shifted her weight, then shoved the big, big, _very _big man – well, at least in comparison to her small frame - with all the strength she could muster. He stumbled away, startled.

'What the hell is your problem, Jandro?'

She didn't yell, just asked. Furiously, of course. She grabbed the fallen tee and shrugged it on. 'HUNGRY' was printed across her chest.

'He's an utter asshole!'

'Yes, but he's the only one who can help, alright? _You_ are definitely utterly useless at this. So go prance back to being that stupid doctor that you are and lay off,' she roared in reply.

She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but she was so very angry. This was all a game to him, a competition of masculinity, control and perception. She'd bruised his ego. Quite badly, she assumed from the look he now eyed her with. She grabbed a pair of denim shorts.

'You're making a mistake, Alandra.'

Yes, she thought so too. Denim? She'd die from the heat. She pulled the shorts on. At least he wasn't shouting anymore.

'Mistakes? I make them all the time, and so do you. _He's_ made mistakes too, mistakes you're now condemning him with. Guess what, though? It doesn't matter. I need his help.'

Exhaustion took over, and she welcomed it. She'd pack in the evening. Quiet peace enveloped as she pulled herself across the plush ivory carpeting to the queen-sized bed, grabbed the white remote and switched the tiny black television on.

Black and white. That was all that made the house - the white cushions, the black tables. It was a monochromatic world, had become that way ever since she'd moved in. Alejandro had affirmed and reaffirmed countless times that he'd wanted to make it more _homey_ but it was anything but. It was bright, cordial, harsh, blinding, formal, distinct, and yet it was none of these. She knew the truth, knew Alejandro too well. The colours, or rather the lack of, were used for a reason. The colours admonished her every where she looked, everywhere she was.

Nothing was in black and white, not to her; not even the old western movie playing out on the television before her. There was always grey to watch for.

'Take a nap, you're exhausted. You won't last. I'll wake you in an hour.'

She'd almost forgotten he was there.

'So you can knock some sense into me when I'm sober?'

He climbed nonchalantly into the bed with her and laid himself carefully on his tummy so that his sudden weight wouldn't send her flying, then snatched the remote from her hand.

'Dear Lord, Ally! I never knew you were a psychic too!'

Alandra chuckled at the sarcasm, but crawled up to him all the same and settled herself against his warm side. She could hear the rhythmic thump of his heart, found comfort in the deep sound.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Then she heard laughter.

She figured it to be the television, figured that perhaps Alejandro merely wished to drive her into mild insanity. But it got louder, then louder still and boomed in her ears, hurting them. She shifted violently, arms flailing in hopes that she'd smack Alejandro clear of the bed, but they came into contact with nothing. She opened her eyes.

Nothing.

Alejandro wasn't there beside her; the television wasn't switched on. Where in the world did the man get to so quickly?

'Alejandro?'

'Alandra Jaine Reeves.'

It was her, it was her. Good Lord, it was _her_. Alandra all but scrambled off the bed, putting the latter in between herself and the newcomer in a poor attempt at a line of defence.

'You know my name.'

The woman laughed, a sound so sweet, so _deadly_.

'I know many things, Alandra Jaine Reeves.'

Her blue hair sparkled in the absence of light. Her pale white skin was coloured.

'Well what do you want?'

Alandra had to think quick, think fast. She flexed her fingers, curled them into fists –

Then felt hope extinguish. The Ring lay no longer on any of her fingers. But it had to be there! Where else could it have gone? Her eyes landed upon the bed; perhaps she would see the glint of gold amongst snow white.

'I want nothing of you, Alandra Jaine Reeves. It is you who has called for I.'

Alandra merely blinked, eyes of green holding shifting back to the dark that shifted in and out of the hazels of the woman's eyes. Her thoughts had been going miles per hour, like a runaway train – zoom, zoom, zoom. They swept by, over and over, then ran right clear off the track. Crashed. Burned. Her mind was silent, calm, relieved. Something was in her head, wrapping it, smothering it, restraining it.

She took an unwilling step back.

'Do not fear, Alandra Jaine Reeves. I have come with hunger and thirst a plague in my soul, and I will feed my hunger, quench my thirst.'

And that was when Alandra remembered.

'Where is he?'

Her words were quiet, calm – she was scaring the shit out of herself.

'I will feed my hunger, quench my thirst.'

'Where the _bloody_ hell is Alejandro?!'

The woman smiled. Alandra could have passed out there and then from the fear.

And the anger.

'Your little toy?'

'What –'

'I have seen the little puppy drool, seen him lust for you. I have watched him hunger for your flesh, watched him thirst for the taste of your tongue on his.'

Well, out the window went the caution and the fear.

'What the _hell_ did you do?'

'I have taken his thirst. I have taken his hunger. I have kissed him, hugged him. I have carried him away from the plagues of the world.'

Yet again Alandra merely blinked. The woman had –

He was gone, he was gone, he was gone.

'YOU _BLOODY _KILLED HIM?!'

Gone, gone.

Alandra did not even pause for the reply; caution was thrown to the wind, fear no longer an adversary. She flew across the room, carefully manicured nails now brandished claws. She was kicking, she was screaming, she was fighting, she was _killing_.

She would have succeeded too if long fingers hadn't closed tightly around her throat with strength so inhuman. She felt her feet leave the ground, felt the breath leave her chest, felt cold hard dead lips press against her ear.

'You upset me so, Alandra Jaine Reeves.'

And then she was flying all over again; past the windows, past the bed, and right smack back into the mirror. The last face she saw was her own, and it was that that fell to pieces before she landed in a heap on her side, bruised. Shards rained down; scratching, cutting, embedding, _killing_.

Pain. Pain, pain, pain.

Alejandro was dead, and she was helpless. There was nothing left to be done, nothing left to want.

'Alandra Jaine Reeves, what will you do?'

She looked up, bared bloody teeth in a snarl.

'Damn you. _Damn_ you!'

The _bitch_ was smiling, sauntering up. Alandra could only watch on as the woman knelt, then grabbed her chin with biting fingers and yanked it up. Alandra struggled, fought. But she was weak, simply pathetic. She slumped against the hold on her.

Alejandro, after all, was dead.

Defeat.

'Do you not hunger?'

She knew. For once she knew the answer.

'Not even a tad, _bitch_.'

There was a cackle, a swipe of nails so long across her cheek, a deadly kiss upon her brow.

And then nothing.

She was looking once more at eyes so dark, so warm, so very –

'Alejandro?'

'Whoa! I wake you and I'm a bitch?'

'Oh Lord, Jandro – '

She threw herself at him, bruises and all, caused the bed they were both on to shake dangerously, and bundled his big frame her arms. When exactly she began to bawl, she did not know, but she was in tears no later and was cuddled against his big frame by steely arms.

' – who knew losing you could be _that _painful?'

She was kissing him – on his nose, his cheeks, his ears, his eyes. Jandro wasn't gone, Jandro _wasn't_ gone.

'Hey, hey, hey.'

She was pulled from him; not viciously, but it did take some effort to pry her away. She could no longer see his face through the tears that blurred her vision.

'What happened?'

What happened? What happened?

Her thoughts ran miles on end. The tears stopped.

What happened?

Her. Her, her, her.

'It was _her_.'

'Her, who?'

'I have to go, Jandro. _She _was here, and I was here, and you – oh God, you were _dead_. I have to go, I have to go. I've got to leave _now_.'

She was frantic, scrambling off the bed, already blindly grabbing clothes from the closet.

'Hey, hey! It was just a dream, Ally! It was all just a dream.'

He grabbed her by the shoulders, towered over her, frowning. She saw his gaze pass over her in quiet examination, saw the slight confusion in his eyes.

'It wasn't, you know that. It wasn't. I'm all bloody and you say it was a dream? Well it wasn't.'

She wiped the blood off her mouth, shrugged off his hold and continued her packing.

'Alandra, but him? Of all –'

'You were _dead_, Jandro! She _killed_ you, _murdered _you! I have to go _now_!'

Why couldn't he just see? Just as she now saw her favourite green vinyl suitcase. It was clear cut. She was taking it.

Why couldn't he just see?

'But –'

'Will you drive me?'

'Alandra –'

'Will you? I could get a cab.'

'Alandra –'

She paused in her packing to glare at him.

'Yes or no? It's a simple question. Will you drive me?'

He opened his mouth once more to retort, then pressed his lips together suddenly, shoulders slumped in defeat.

His next words came out quiet, diminished.

'I'll drive you.'

'Thank you.'

He smiled a smile so forced, she couldn't help but feel the guilt crawl down her throat as she watched him grab the clothes she had stuffed into her suitcase and fold them precisely, neatly. She sighed, slumping heavily back upon the bed beside her suitcase. The need to hurry was no longer present.

'Look, Jandro, I'm sorry. But I really do have to go to him.'

He paused in folding a pair of long black skinny jeans, but made no move to look her in the eye.

'I know.'

She watched him wearily. There was something about him that now seemed different. She had the feeling that – wait! The _feeling_! Was that it?

'He won't eat me, you know. He won't hurt me.'

'Not directly.'

_I have seen the little puppy drool, seen him lust for you._

She frowned. Did he, truly?

'I'll take care of myself. Really, I will,' she continued, in a voice so small.

The pair of jeans still lay limply in his hands, and still his eyes were trained on them.

'Please do.'

_I have watched him hunger for you flesh, watched him thirst for the taste of your tongue on his._

She couldn't take it any longer, couldn't hold in the fear and the curiosity. Did he? Did he, really?

'Do you like me, Alejandro?'

The words flew from her mouth so carelessly. She'd have smacked herself around the head soundly if she could. Seeing Jandro's flushed and frowning face eying her helped the situation none.

'Of course I do. Wouldn't have had you living here otherwise, now would I?'

He finished folding the pair of pants and stuffed it into the case.

'I meant –'

She paused, now unsure. Should she push the topic? Should she –

'I meant as more than just a friend?'

The words had flown past her lips once more. She wished she could damn curiosity to Hell as she watched Jandro's frown deepen considerably, a hand still buried deep in the suitcase.

'Are you – Are you pregnant Ally?'

'What?'

What in the world was going on in the man's mind?

'If you are, I guess I'm alright with it. We'll get married, raise the kid together.'

She folded her arms crossly.

'What the hell are you going on about?'

'We'll do this together.'

'Jandro, what –'

He sighed and knelt before her, eyes upon hers. His hands ran up her smooth calves and across her bare thighs, coming to rest upon her belly.

'It's my fault – I know, I know. I knew I shouldn't have gotten you drunk that night. I can't really say I hadn't enjoyed being in that alley, though. Is it a boy or a girl?'

She was annoyed now, by both the hands that groped at her stomach and the mouth that endlessly spewed words that held no meaning, not to her.

'I am _not_ pregnant, you twit!'

Her words came in a cry of frustration as she stood abruptly. Jandro fell back on his sorry behind, clearly surprised.

'Then why are you asking me such questions?'

His yell was accompanied by a large set of elaborate hand gestures.

'So you don't like me? Not in that way?'

His hands fell limply into his lap.

'Would you like me to? Do _you_ feel that way about me?'

'I – well – No.'

She hoped her reply hadn't stung. It was the truth.

'Well then, what the hell are you going on about? What's with all the questions?'

'I'm just a friend?'

She watched on confusedly as he pushed himself on to his feet, then frowned down at her.

'What would you like to be? My mother?'

She looked up at him, and he down at her. The laughter that came next was loud and it surprised them both, threatened to leave them breathless. They laughed endlessly – Alejandro's a deep rumbling guffaw and Alandra's an unexpectedly delightful tinkle – before both fell in a heap upon the bed wrapped in the other's arms. She didn't know how, or why, but the mindless laughter continued for several minutes, several hours, several days; time no longer mattered. They laughed till tears fell, laughed till all the exhaustion was exhausted, laughed till anxiety and animosity no longer prevailed.

They eventually fell from their high, when exactly she didn't know. They were left breathless on the bed, both side by side – Alandra flat on her tummy and Jandro on his back.

'You really thought I was in love with you?'

'You really thought I was pregnant and was so desperately in need of you?' she countered.

He turned to look at her and grinned.

'_Touché_.'

Alandra, too, turned, resting her cheek upon the back of her hand and grinned right back.

'I thought you did Spanish?'

His grinned widened.

'_A__prendiz de todo!_ What can I say? I'm a Jack of all trades.'

She smirked.

'_Maestro de nada_. And a master of none.'

'Hey!' he cried, sitting up and crossing his arms with a huff in an almost ladylike manner. 'That is not true.'

She couldn't help but giggle a tad at the sight.

'No, you're right, it isn't.'

It really wasn't. Alejandro was strangely adept at languages. He'd already mastered nine, including Chinese. _She_ had taken Chinese back at Dartsmouth when she'd been so desperately young, carefree and obsessed with being a doctor. The first lesson had been great. The second, however, hadn't been too appealing, and the third had been downright agonizing. The fourth she did not attend, nor any others that followed. Pathetic, really.

'What made you think I was in love?'

She sighed, then rolled off the bed. She'd had better get to packing.

'Alandra?'

She didn't look at him, didn't want to.

'It's just – Her.'

'Well then.'

He slid off the bed, then padded across the room to the door. Alandra frowned at him.

'Where are you going?'

He turned back, a look of distinct unhappiness upon his face.

'I'm going to call you a ticket, get you on the earliest flight to LA. I have to rid myself of this whole Her-She-Thing business. It's driving me insane.'

She beamed.

'Constantine?'

He had his back on her again. She didn't think to care why.

'If you are hurt in any way under his care, you might want to tell him that I'm going to skin him alive. I'm a doctor. I'm good with these things.'

She raised an eyebrow.

'I get hurt all the time. It's part of the job description.'

'I couldn't care less.'

He still had his back on her.

'Is that a threat?'

This time, he turned; only a little, but it was enough for her to catch the mask of absolute fury he had on. How quickly his moods swung.

'No, it isn't. It's a vow.'


	4. Rekindling

**Yes, I know I'm terribly slow! I'm sorry **

**xoxo**

* * *

There had been many, hundreds even, and every single time she'd looked Death dead in the eye. Demons, angels, the Devil itself – she'd seen them all. Yet, Alandra now sat reduced to nothing but an anxious mess beneath Jandro's furious gaze. He'd done what he had said he would and she was now booked on the next plane to Los Angeles. They packed her up and got her into the car in the midst of tension so thick, it was almost excruciatingly painful. He barely said a word – uttered a grand total of two, actually – as he, albeit grudgingly, drove her down the sandy streets of Mexico.

The ride didn't take long and for that, she was almost certainly grateful. Nothing could've had her scrambling any faster than she did when the car pulled up in front of the airport. If it came right down to it, it'd have probably taken her twice as long to pull on a pair of pants or to pull her hair into a ponytail.

'Thanks, Jandro.'

All she got in reply was what sounded remotely like a zebra's attempt at a growl, a somewhat inaudible warped grunt of sorts.

'Oh come on, at least say goodbye.'

His eyes narrowed.

'You're paying for all the hospital bills. Keep that phone with you.'

She rolled her eyes, then gave him a quick peck on the kiss. Fat load of good that did, of course. It didn't even seem to leave a mite smidgen of impression on his growing aggression towards her leaving.

'Yes, I'll miss you too, Jandro.'

She made a big show of releasing a long breath of frustration and swung the car door close, merely earning herself a glare from Jandro as he pulled from the curb. She returned it with a smile. _That_, undoubtedly,was a big mistake and it left her standing alone with her green suitcase, nose wrinkling viciously at the clouds of dust that attacked when the car raced off.

Well.

Stupid Jandro.

The next hour went by uneventfully. She'd collected her plane ticket from a rather unappealing flirt of a receptionist – and by this, she was already doing the silly toothpick great justice – and tiredly stumbled her way to the waiting lounge. She sent Constantine a text, covering the details of her flight. She received, of course, no reply. It was at that moment, exactly when she'd felt relief to be having a gloriously normal peaceful albeit boring day, she was forced to believe that God had an indisputably rotten sense of humour, no matter how great a sin beliefs were.

'Ally!'

She could shoot herself, she really could.

'Balthazar.'

The usual expensive striped tailored suit was donned perfectly, hair of richest hazelnuts sleeked back to complement a jaw so chiselled and teeth bleached white. She had one word to describe the relationship they shared; or at least, the relationship _she _had with him. One simple, easy word.

Loathing.

His loathing, on the other hand and much to her chagrin, had probably been saved and concentrated on someone entirely different. Who knew such a creature could run out of _loathing_, of all things?

'Come, sit!'

Well, it wasn't someone _entirely_ different, but that didn't really matter because wherever else it had gone – and she did know exactly where it went – left her with a rather annoying pesky little buzzard who now sat, legs stretched and crossed leisurely almost in an outright effort to show of them shined derbies. He grinned at her and the smile did, in fact, reach eyes that were rimmed a tell-tale red. He had a copy of _El Economista_ rolled up neatly in his hand.

She didn't know his kind could do all languages.

Hmm. Mental note indeed.

'No, thank you.'

That, simply, was the curt reply that accompanied the warning glare she shot him. Perhaps it was the fact that he did not usually face rejection – she would bet all she had that the toothpick lady had earlier fallen head over heels and, of course, hadn't been the only one to. Or perhaps it was the mutual acquaintance they shared that he wished to drive her from. Whichever it was she couldn't help but hate thoroughly. It now had him traipsing after her smartly as she crossed the room, and it had him making himself comfortable in seat beside her when she'd finally settled on a cosy – well, it _had_ been cosy when she'd spotted it – corner in the lounge.

'Haven't seen you in a while.'

He leaned in towards her, his searing breaths coming out in short puffs against her cheek. And by searing, she really did mean _searing_. Honestly, had the thing not once heard of personal bubbles? Personal space?

Alandra got up, then settled a seat down.

He chuckled.

'Come now, Ally girl! We've had some fun. We could have so much more!'

That got him another glare. Dim-witted bugger.

'You shoved your tongue down my throat, and I _kicked_ you.'

He grinned right back.

'It was a great kiss, you have to admit. What? You caught up with that doctor now?'

That was sudden, but it bit in good. That bit in way too good. She was up and at him in seconds, a hand at his throat and the other bundled tightly into a sound fist high above their heads, the Ring of Solomon glinting in ominous mockery beneath the poor fluorescent lighting. She had her eyes on his smouldering dark ones, watched as the masked confidence slipped for bare moments as the Ring was considered apprehensively. The eyes of everyone else, on the other hand, were glued on the both of them. It was domestic violence – only all twisted and feministic.

Well, she didhave those cuts and bruises.

'You've been _watching_ me?'

'You like that thought?'

The mask had slipped right back into place, accompanying a deviously sardonic smirk as he relaxed beneath her grip. Alandra snarled at him.

'Go find some other damsel to distress, Bally boy.'

He reacted inhumanly quick. She had had her face pushed into his in a moment and the next, it was pressed rather uncomfortably into his long cologne-ridden neck. Her back smarted from his hard shove and her sneaker-clad feet flailed viciously at the momentary loss of contact with the tiled floor. The next few hundred gazamillion words that flew from her mouth were ones she would have never shared with her grandkids, even if the threat of Hell hung just above her head.

It took her three whole seconds to struggle off the messed up retard, took him two to get up after her and took them both one to have her pressed up in the corner, cadged in and suffocated sufficiently by his strong stripe-clad arms.

Dear Lord, this was getting annoying.

'So why are we wondering off to LA to be all buddy buddy with John Constantine, my dear?'

'Why were you following me?'

He laughed. That stupid thing _laughed_ in her face, splayed her with tobacco filled spit. He brought his arms closer, diminished the cage.

'John Constantine, Alandra? After what he did?'

He was blatantly riling her up, she knew that through and through. It took her all the strength she could muster to hold herself back from shoving her Ring-clad fist up his nose.

'Yeah, John. We had a thing once. What a great little thing that was,' she replied through gritted teeth.

That, of course, was a downright lie. She never had anything with Constantine - hadn't even so much as shared a sandwich – and not in a million years would she have one.

'Oh? Rekindling it?'

'Ah yes, rekindling old flames. It's very therapeutic.'

There was nothing to rekindle.

He chuckled down at her. It was times like these that had her wishing she had different, less vertically challenged parents. If she tiptoed, her nose would only come up to his pink-tinged lips. Such were the tragedies of her existence.

'Well, I see I've got some flight details to rearrange.'

She didn't care to think what or why. She was too dizzy from the tobacco stench and the heavy frustration for either to matter. He released her from his built cage, still chuckling and distastefully threw a cheeky wink her way before spinning on his heels and marching off in a direction that she could only wish had a grinder of sorts that would do away with him for good. But before she could so much as drawn up the image of a Balthazar-free existence, much less enjoy such a fanciful thought, a call for the boarding of her flight blasted and resonated throughout the lounge. Alandra made no hesitance to pull her belongings together and scramble her way on to the plane, made no hesitance to get as far as she could from the Balthazar wretch.

Her seat turned out to be neither by the window nor by the aisle. She didn't really mind. Of course it would mean that she'd face a horrendous ride to LA should her seatmates be horizontally blessed. Horrendous wouldn't even begin to describe it, actually. If anything, she'd be smooshed, she'd be _pulp_. But she didn't really mind. Just as long as she was far, far, very far away from Balthazar, she could survive _anything_. She settled back into the seat, eyes closed, mouth drawn across in a wild joyous grin.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Lord enjoyed His sense of humour very much. Alandra, of course, didn't have to face a three hour long ride squashed between huge seatmates. Whilst that she could have counted her blessings for, the alternative made no such gratitude even remotely possible. She'd napped dreamlessly through the plane's departure from the airport and through most of the time it'd spent airborne. _Most_ of time, regrettably, meant no where near the _whole_ time. The plane shot through its fair share of turbulence and had her jolting awake, eyes wide and lips pursed. Said eyes found themselves staring into dark chocolate browns and said lips themselves pressed up quite unpleasantly against a smooth pink deathly cold tongue.

'Morning, Sunshine.'

She screamed, out of fear at first, then out of comprehensive horror and then out of pure unadulterated anger. She couldn't care nuts about all the attention they were getting.

'Succumb, Ally. Our time is coming.'

She didn't even stop to think.

'Get _off_ me, bastard!'

She fought against the safety belt and shoved him as hard as she could. She shoved him, then slapped him, then sent a vicious punch his way with the Ring brandished formidably. His head swung back violently, sleek hair now a fine-looking mess about his head.

'Ow,' he said ever so mildly as he massaged his jaw. Already, a sharp red was forming where the Ring had connected with his skin.

She glared. She seemed to be doing that a lot recently.

'Don't you 'ow' me, you bloody twit. That didn't hurt.'

She knew it didn't. Except for the slight scalding the Ring would have given him, the strength of the swing she had taken would have had no impact on him whatsoever. She, on the other hand, was going to be sporting swollen brilliantly purple knuckles in a half hour or so.

'No, it didn't. So why bother?'

He had his face in hers again; so close, oh so close – the tobacco on his breath, his clear slightly tanned complexion, the crimson rims of his eyes. His lips were slightly parted, barely grazing her own, yet_ again_.

'You know something.'

It wasn't question, but she wanted the answer. She kept her eyes intent on his, brows knitted together in a downright frown. She didn't back down. She was confused.

'Maybe.' His eyes made their way down her nose, to her lips. 'Maybe not.'

She didn't need to think, just raised her fist again, held the Ring an inch from his neck. Dear Lord, if he continued, she'd be pushed right over. There'll be no more Balthazar for the world to know, and she'd be sentenced to Hell for the rest of her miserable afterlife. Hesitation passed across his features ever so briefly as the intolerance and annoyance fought its way onto her face, but it was veiled quickly by a full-fledged very _male _smirk.

'Well?'

He retreated, settled back into his seat beside her. Her fist was still held looming, threatening.

'There is nothing.'

She arched a brow.

'Didn't quite catch that.'

'Nothing moves through the shadows, Alandra Jaine Reeves.'

He didn't look at her. She lowered her fist.

'Good.'

'Not just yet.'

Her fist shot right back up, the other hand clenched at his starched collar. This time though, he shrugged it off indifferently without even a hint of a smile passing those lips.

'Don't be silly. We plot your demise every other day.'

That much she had to concede. She dropped her hold on him and watched as he smoothed out the creases she had inflicted upon the expensive stripes. But she leaned towards him all the same.

'What do you mean nothing moves through the shadows?'

He turned to her and leaned in as well, eyebrow delicately arched.

'I mean just what I mean.'

'So all the threats and the dreams – they're not your work? Not your little chum chum geezers?'

'We do not threaten Alandra.'

'But – '

The rest of her words disappeared behind the long manicured finger he held to her lips.

'We go straight for the kill.'

Before Ally could so much as mouth her retort – and she'd actually succeeded in thinking up a rather clever comeback too – the plane ran smack into yet another wave of turbulence and they were both thrown almost painfully back into their seats. A wave of nausea stabbed through her – yet another reason to hate the miserable trip she was having – and sent her scrambling for the brown paper bag that had been folded and kept neatly in the seat pocket. What exactly happened next she couldn't quite comprehend, nor could she figure out how all that vomit had come about. What she did know was that as soon as she had completed the vicious upheaval of the contents in her supposedly empty stomach, the plane had landed and Balthazar had somehow dropped off the face of the earth – or so she wholeheartedly wished. Of course, he had in fact disappeared without a trace from the seat beside her.

Praise the Lord.

Alandra didn't even think to waste any time in gathering her things from the overhead compartment, stuffing the vomit-filled paper bag into the seat pocket and racing as fast as she could down the miniscule aisle with the green suitcase trailing after towards the exit.

Always, always as far away from Balthazar as she could get.

She found her way around the airport with competence. Constantine, on the other hand, was no where in sight. She whipped out her cell phone – yes, she saw its importance now – and sent fingers flying over the numbers.

Ringing.

Still ringing.

Still –

_By God woman, can you __never leave me be?_

He did _not_ sound like he'd just woken up from a nice long snooze. He did _not_.

'Did I wake you?'

_Obviously!_

There was a loud thump on the other end, followed by a good nice long string of words that could have had Balthazar blushing.

'Rolled off the bed? God, Constantine, you were supposed to pick me up, twit!'

She rushed all the way down, and now she had to wait? Get a knife, get a gun. She was going to _kill_ the man.

_It's bloody two!_

'Yes, in the _afternoon_.'

Her reply was met with more swears, faint mumbles and a retching cough.

_Give me a half hour._

Alandra Jaine Reeves was not a happy woman. Nor did was she any happier throughout the half hour she spent moping about the Starbucks outlet with Balthazar at her heels. She was really beginning to wonder how the thing kept such accurate tabs on her. One moment she had the cell phone pressed her ear and the next, his lips had replaced it, his arms wrapped – and she hated to admit – comfortably around her waist.

'Rekindling?' he asked, scalding her ear.

'Role playing,' she grunted, before freeing herself violently from his hold and making her way briskly to the café.

So there she sat, with an empty cup. And there he sat with a far from empty cup. He didn't need to drink. They'd been that way for a good twenty minutes or so. He had his eyes on her and not on her face either; somewhere much, _much _lower, that made her regret ever slipping on those shorts. It was a game he was winning; his sitting there just smirking was really beginning to irk her.

'What do you want?'

'You.'

An eyebrow shot up so fast, she almost cramped up her brow.

'What do you want?'

She made the effort to draw out the words for as long as she could. Drum it into his thick half-blooded head.

'You.'

With eyes that brimmed unaddressed hunger, she found no logical way to discern that he was indeed lying. Well, for that moment at least.

It was for that sole reason that she could've jumped right up and proclaimed her undying love for John Constantine. Again, for that moment at least.

'Fraternizing. I should have guessed.'

Undying love, indeed. He was pressed up against her back, a hand placed almost protectively on her shoulder. It was strange John Constantine to do so but such an oddity diminished considerably when their adversary in question was considered.

'John.'

'Bally.'

Silence. They were staring each other down she presumed – she couldn't quite tell what Constantine was doing behind her. Either way, Balthazar seemed to notice the hand on her shoulder and with a fairly arched brow, threw them both a mocking grin.

'Ah, rekindle away, my dear.'

She saw the fury etch its way onto his handsome features as got up, nodded at them both and promptly disappeared.

Constantine's hand was still clutched at her shoulder.

'Hand. Thanks for saving me by the way. Could've jumped right off the building.'

She was already gathering her belongings once more. No help there, not from him. What a surprise.

'What did he mean rekindle?'

She shrugged off his seemingly immobile hand, pulled herself to her feet, then looked at – no – looked _up_ at him. John Constantine was not a tall man, not a tall man at all. Damn.

'I seriously doubt you really want to know. Where's the car?'


End file.
